


Dreaming with Eyes Open

by marcus_the_great



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, The Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Gen, Other, WIP, Work In Progress, fite ! scene/s, flashbacks !!, started off as a oneshot. and now it keeps going., warriors deserves a sick burn, we love a snarky boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcus_the_great/pseuds/marcus_the_great
Summary: “Everything on the island seems to only exist in the frame of a dream to me now, faded by time, soft around the edges. Although, it stands to reason that Koholint is real. It lives on as scars, mementos, my collection of freckles.For how can someone dream with their eyes open?”
Relationships: Link/Marin (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Dreaming with Eyes Open

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For Wherever You May Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162662) by [Ayngondaia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngondaia/pseuds/Ayngondaia). 



On days like these, when the sky is that particular shade of cerulean, clear save for a few puffy white clouds, I can't help but remember that place. The one place I wasn’t able to save. The one that, while only residing in dream form, and perhaps appropriately, haunts me the most.

I’ve never figured out exactly how I ended up there, half-dead and washed up on the surf like a piece of driftwood. Divine intervention seems the only fitting explanation. Of course, the goddesses were never too fond of me, of course it had to end in sorrow.

Hell, I had seen the island dismember itself into a crystal clear sea, an entire civilization of people discarded, tossed away into the void as if they hadn’t even existed in the first place.

Everything on the island seems to only exist in the frame of a dream to me now, faded by time, soft around the edges. But, it stands to reason that Koholint _is_ real. It lives on as scars, mementos, my collection of freckles. For how can someone dream with their eyes open?

It's frustrating. I've grappled with the truth and my feelings over and over again, never able to reach a definitive answer. Besides, I don't like to stay in one place for too long, the spirit of the hero has brought about a very specific destiny for me, never able to rest. How can I be certain that I wouldn’t return to my old ways- even if I could be with her? I’m the incarnate of a wandering spirit for Nayru’s sake.

I cast my gaze upwards, ignoring the glint of the sun, soaking up the sky.

The breeze rustles my hair and the sleeves of my tunic. I let out a breath. The wind fills up the space the silence holds. I sit motionless for a few moments, slowly feeling the insane itch to move lead me to fidget with my gear. Sitting still isn't in my blood, lying in wait won't ease me.

I focus myself on the sky, looking for the fluid movement of something in flight. Of course, the sea is far away from me, but I could've sworn the breeze has the tang of sea salt, and the rustle of the leaves has begun to sound like the gentle lapping of waves. In the lull, I find myself tapping a rhythm on my knee, just a dull pat. If any of the others were to find me right now, I don't know what I would do. I'm not the guy who attempts to explain myself, and I have no interest in beginning now. I realize how foolish I feel, oblivious to the world apart from the sky and the wind.

"So this is where you scampered off to."

The voice punctuates the silence, and I shoot up to attention. How long has he been here?

"I don't scamper Old Man." I sneer, trying to return the venom to my tongue.

I hear him let loose a laugh as he lowers to the ground beside me, his chain mail chinking together. I turn my head away, I don't want anyone to see this kind of vulnerability.

If my time as a hit-and-run hero has taught me anything- it’s that being soft will only cause more hurt. It’s a law of nature: the strong survive. A Helmasaur is a threat because of its tough shell, not just the creature’s brash behavior.

I keep anticipating his response as I work my face into an annoyed expression: brows drawn low over narrow eyes, a slight pout.

“You know...” he begins, I cock my head towards him, still not enough to make eye contact. “Out of everyone I would’ve expected you to be the most outspoken when it came to your own adventures.”

A breathy laugh forces itself out of my mouth, which I quickly stifle. There’s no denying that he’s right, but what does he expect me to say? Everyone is entitled to their secrets— by no means is the old man open about his past. Disconnected fragments of all he went through occasionally make it into conversation, but no one knows the whole truth. The same can be said for all of us (besides the Captain, of course, he can’t shut up about his prowess on the battlefield).

“I’m no storyteller,” I say simply.

 _And even if I was,_ I continue in my head, _I’d keep it simple._

And besides, my story- as little as I’ve voluntarily passed on- isn’t told through words. Ravio’s presence in my house, my packrat tendencies, my arsenal that’s big enough to supply a small army. The rings, too many to fit on all my fingers at once (couldn’t even tell you what all of them do...), the assortment of tiny trinkets, coins, medallions.

And despite me not being the most musically proficient, I have more flutes and stringed instruments and percussive _things_ than I know what to do with.

The music.

I remember. It wasn’t a lullaby or a melody as much as Koholint’s mythology. And she- Marin, remained irrevocably tied to the song.

That lilting melody was hers.

I catch a soft nod out of the corner of my eye.

Even though I lack the stature and intensity of the Hero of Time, I have at least some of the experience he has. It’s an odd kinship between us, I don’t take to him like Twilight does, but we heroes are all linked in some way or another.

“I’ve got my own demons- we all do.” if a sigh had the ability to speak, then with his low register, it would be his voice. It comes like a breath, airy and almost hesitant. I guess I’m supposed to act like this is all some big revelation to me.

I keep my voice dry, “Oh really?” I let loose a whistle, one that starts clear but ends up splitting into two tones. Usually I would’ve enjoyed messing with anyone simply for the sake of it, but my heart isn’t in it this time.

“Have you ever seen a world end?”

_What?_

I bite my tongue, letting the strange question sink in, churn around a bit. He can’t possibly know, there is no way. There’s plenty of things I neglect in passing conversation, the Dark World, my strange friendship with Ravio.

But none are as tucked away- recessed as far back in my memory as it can be to not be completely forgotten.

“It was a long time ago- but you know how it goes.” I’ve never seen him this laidback- which was hilariously ironic given the circumstance. But I know exactly how he feels, the wounds may disappear, or heal into scars, but the mental wounds stay with you regardless. It isn’t determined by how well it heals.

I relinquish the stiffness of my neck- letting my head lightly bob in agreement.

“Yeah,” I force out.

“It was like Hyrule... almost- they were all there but not themselves, two Malons’, the skull kids from the woods, three Ingos’...” his voice is dipped in nostalgia, but also a fair amount of anxiety.

Anxiety that has remained unchanged regardless of how long ago this happened.

“I got there three days before the scheduled Armageddon, when their moon would crash into them and kill everyone.”

I can tell by his voice that he had said his piece. The hero’s spirit wasn’t a talkative one, the secrets we held were ours for the keeping and the telling. It was an unspoken agreement between us all, we didn’t pry into each other’s lives.

But of course, the old man had relinquished something important: his past. And it was only fair I do the same.

“It was an island, materialized out of the storm. I washed up on the shore and she found me.” I pause, remembering the blurred memory of her smiling at me, the shock of red hair. “At first I mistook her for the princess, but the hair..”

“Oh...” I see a grin snake up his face, “So you have a thing for redheads too..” he muses.

I roll my eyes, feeling my forehead cinch up as I narrow my eyes towards my feet.

My shoulders slouch, curling into myself. I can practically see the pinkness on my cheeks, judging from the warm flush across my face.

Idiot.

“Anyways-“ I spit, as though I’m talking with hot embers on my tongue. I furrow my brow further, “long story short, that island... it wasn’t- it disappeared. Because of me.”

I risk the slightest glance over to him, catching his solemn, scarred and yet curious face. I know he’s prodding me to continue.

I didn’t.


End file.
